


Juniper and Springwater

by StoryCloud



Category: The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Funny, Gen, based on line from the comic, gren is drunk, lots of swearing, lucky pawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryCloud/pseuds/StoryCloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gren staggers into the Lucky Pawn. Drunken Arguments ensue. Set before episode 4; Rated for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juniper and Springwater

**Author's Note:**

> A little exchange featuring my favorite Wolf Among Us characters. This is what I think went down when Gren visited the Pawn shop before episode 4. Based off what Jersey said in the comics; That Gren came in asking if he could 'hook him up with some juniper and sprinwater'.

Juniper and Spring Water

It was a muggy summer's night in the Lucky Pawn. Closing time occurred hours ago; the digital clock in the corner behind the counter beaming '1AM' and the till all but emptied. The moist darkness outside was fickle compared to the heat on the inside; the owner and only occupant of the shop tapped the broken air conditioner with a rough, ring-adorned finger. Alas, it remained as dead as a drowned rat. Jersey was beginning to feel like one himself; tugging at the back of his v-neck with two fingers; his thumb awkwardly tucked against his palm.

He didn't like to hang around this late; he'd flipped the sign to 'closed' hours ago but he hadn't drawn down the gate. Thanks to a certain spook that had a penchant for mirror-stalking, the cryptid was stuck sorting through the boxes of junk that had been dumped behind the counter. If his temper had its way, he would have tossed it all out into the trash. But digging through mountains of garbage was apparently worth it if something valuable was buried beneath.

He pushed his sunglasses back into place; the thin sheet of sweat coating his face making them slid down the ridge of his nose. With an annoyed sniff he glanced at the clock to find that fifteen minutes had passed and he still hadn't found anything in these boxes of worth.

Fuck it all.

Ding-sing.

His brow furrowed and he glared out of the corner of his eyes. That wasn't right. The gate wasn't down but the door was surely locked.

There was a thud as someone leaned their heavy body against the wall. Jersey turned and cocked a brow; mouth curling into something between a nasty smirk and an irritated sneer. "And what the fuck are you doin' in here?"

"Sup, Devil Man."

The cryptid said nothing, but he smelled alcohol. Grendel, in his crocodile shoes and slicked-back haired glory, was slouching against the wall, blinking as if he was trying to stare at the sun and not the irritated pawn-shop owner. And each eye seemed to blink out of sync. Jersey felt a something in him bristle, and drop, at the same time. He was drunk. Incredibly drunk. And perhaps high, too, as he was beaming sleepily around; staring dizzily at each little trinket in the glass cases before his hazy gaze landed on Jersey once more.

"So, uh...you got any of that stuff?"

"Do I got what stuff?" Jersey retorted, slowly placing his hands on his hips; thumbs hooked around his suspenders. He brazed himself mentally. Grendel wasn't angry, it seemed, so he wouldn't start trashing everything. But he was far too happy and it brushed the Garden State spook the wrong way. It just wasn't natural for the guy to be smiling like this.

Gren gave a muffled, tipsy laugh, shaking his head. His eyes closed; one milky eye cracking open again. As if peering through one alone would minimize the spinning room. That is, Jersey was sure that was what the guy was seeing. "I ain't got no stuff. You look like you've had your fair share of drugs t'night, Grendel, so why don't you just –"

"I don' mean that, I mean some Juniper 'n springwater, or some shit." Gren's signature frown returned; lopsided and loose on his scarred face. Jersey's eyes narrowed behind tinted frames.

"I ain't got it. Why the heck would you think I had somethin' like that in here?" In spite of himself, one side of his moustached lip curled up into a smirk. "Like I said, you've had enough of about everythin' tonight."

Gren shrugged; or at least attempted it; arms folded clumsily against his chest. One leg tucked against the wall as he stared around the shop again, this time looking a tad more alert. His eyes landed on one case in particular.

"...Wait a minute, that's Woody's axe, ain't it?"

Jersey scowled. His shoulders hunched a little. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah...though why the fuck should I care if he pawned it or...not..." Gren leaned his head against the wall, like a man trying to fight of seasickness. Jersey wondered if he was too drunk to drop glamour; he'd shove him out of here himself if needed. The balding man flexed his fingers, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

"It ain't your business, Mead boy. Now, are you gonna split or am I gonna have to make ya?"

Gren scowled at him; lips curled downward. For a moment Jersey considered the fact he'd have to fight a bloated white goblin-monster that was higher than a cloud. But then Gren shifted off the wall and stepped towards the door; his leg giving an ominous wobble.

"Fuck you, antler boy."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you."

Gren finally managed to open the door, glaring back at Jersey all the while, and stumbled out into the stuffy summer air. Jersey strode forward, scaling the distance between him and the entrance in a few long steps, and slammed it shut, turning the key and checking four times that it was truly locked. Then, he flipped off the window lights at the switch.

This is what he got for having a shop next door to a Troll Bar.


End file.
